


You Wanna Stay

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, Baker Bitty, Chirping, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Stripper Bitty, nhl jack, post-cup celebration, strip clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:10:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Shitty invites Jack and the boys for a post cup celebration at his strip club, Jack has some reservations.  But it's impossible to tell his best friend no.  He doesn't exactly expect to have a good time, and he certainly doesn't expect to be enraptured by one of the dancers, who turns out to be an adorable ball of Southern Sunshine.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an AU a friend and I were talking about and I had to write because...I mean how could I not? The characters are probably a little ooc considering the situation, and the fact that check, please is still fairly new to me. But I love a sassy Bitty so it had to be done. 
> 
> Quick note- I'm not Canadian, or American, but I'm trying to kind of work with the slang I've learnt. I used a website for Quebec-centric slang/phrases so if I got any of those wrong, please let me know (I googled a lot so hopefully they're not too bad--though I think some of it it spelt out more phonetic than proper?) 
> 
> Either way, I hope you like this.
> 
> Trigger warnings for mentions of anxiety and past homophobic comments made by other Hockey Players.

**Bro. Dude. My duuuudes. TELL me you are not leaving town before you come celebrate with me. I have some sick dancers, totally your type.**

_That…is a terrible idea, Shits. Maybe the worst idea you’ve ever had. Do you not see a flaw in this plan?_

**No I do not, you gorgeous, Stanley Cup winning motherfucker. Because I have a private VIP booth which no one but the dancers can see, and believe me, they are loyal. Or there would be some sick as fuuuuuck rumours online already.**

_Fine. Let me…ask the boys._

**Tell Rans and Holster if they do not show up, they are dead to me. DEAD!**

**Also Rans better bring that flower crown. That was a work of art.**

_They said yes. What time?_

**I’ll book the table for eleven. Jay-ZED you will not regret this you beautiful Canuck Sunfish.**

_That’s not even a thing, Shitty. See you at Eleven._

*** 

Truly it was a terrible idea. I mean, having known Shitty Knight since he was a tadpole at Samwell, he’d heard some colossally, ridiculously, stupid fucking ideas. But this?

This.

Jack Zimmermann, the Captain of the Falcons who had just taken the Stanley Cup for the second year in a row, showing up to a strip club in Boston—a strip club with a reputation, mind, was one of the most ridiculous ideas he’d ever had.

But the thing of it was, Shitty Knight was also Jack’s best friend and he had a really hard time telling him no. As in he literally couldn’t. Ever. It was how he wound up taking three of his finals with the worst hangover of his life. It was how he nearly got caught naked on the quad his sophomore year. It was how he was found in boxers, with his hands tied behind his back, stuck under the coach’s desk for four hours his Junior year.

That last one he had some serious explaining to do.

But it had been years since Shitty talked him into doing anything this stupid, and really he was regretting his decision to say yes the moment he said it. But Tater, Parse, Ransom, and Holster were far too excited. The latter two because they had gone to Samwell along with Jack and Shitty and it was almost like having the old Haus back together.

“Lardo’s going to be there, right?” Ransom asked, nearly bouncing his seat, sending the flower crown toppling off to the side.

“Likely. She’s head of security,” Jack said dryly.

One look at her and someone might have thought Shitty truly had lost his mind. Then they’d see Lardo take out the first creeper who tried to get handsy with one of their dancers and they’d get an in-person demonstration as to why she had the job.

That and a little nepotism, of course, seeing as she and Shitty had been together for just about ever and they were basically one functioning unit. Honestly, Jack had seen a Lardo-less Shitty a few times and did not want a repeat of the experience.

The club itself was—not really a revolution amongst strip-clubs. There were plenty of dancer-positive spaces all over the country, though Jack didn’t frequent them much, wasn’t really his thing. But Shitty’s was probably the most diverse, and each of the dancers were independent contractors. They set their rates, kept their tips, made their schedules. Shitty was really just in charge of making sure things ran smoothly and everyone followed the rules.

And that top quality booze was always in stock.

Jack had been there when the place opened. He laughed til he cried when he saw the glowing sign Haus. “What. We have to represent,” Shitty declared.

Jack chirped him for days, but honestly he kind of liked it.

Shitty was doing well, making plenty of money, protecting the dancers which were practically his adopted children at this point—especially since Lardo made it clear children were not in their future.

But the thing of it was, although Jack and the others were out, they weren’t exactly interested in inviting more rumours about what they did in their off time, and going to a strip club the night after winning the Stanley Cup really just seemed to be inviting trouble.

But he trusted Shitty—as stupid as that might have been, so he went along with it.

Tater looked more excited than anything, and Parse just looked amused that Jack was loosening up a little. “Think anyone can get Jack worked up tonight?” Parse asked in Alexei’s ear, loud enough for most of the car to hear over Holster’s weird, hipster, accordion music.

Alexei snorted. “I think it would be miracle for Jack to get worked up. He worked up enough for the year over cup.”

Jack rolled his eyes and thought about flipping him off. Instead he watched the streets fly by until they were turning down an alley. Shitty had offered them the employee entrance in case they’d been followed—so far so good, but Jack wasn’t taking any chances. The alley was dark enough, and Shitty was outside already with a smug, shit-eating grin.

“Look at you, you gorgeous bastards,” he crowed before launching himself at Jack. He was lifted easily into a hug. “Fuckin’ giant.”

Jack set him down and stepped aside as the others said hello, and he lifted a brow when Parse slid up next to him. “Nervous?”

Jack sighed. “If I wake up to some twitter shitstorm over me being spotted in a strip club…”

Parse laughed again, and clapped him on the back before they all filed in. They were led down a dark corridor, up a set of short stairs, and through a black velvet curtain which blocked out all view of the club apart from the stage.

Shitty jumped up and down on the cosy, round booth, then kicked one of his feet up on the table. “Okay, there’s bottle-service and whatever the hell you want, obviously. These little doo-dads,” he pointed to what looked like a small tablet, “will let you pick your dancer and your songs. Each dancer profile has a list of songs they’ll dance to. If you want a special request, you can ask, but don’t get pushy.”

Jack gave him a level stare. “Who do you think we are, Shits?”

“Man, I give the same lecture to my own mother,” Shitty said, putting his hand over his heart.

“Oh man next time she’s in town, call me,” Ransom said, adjusting his crown again. “I love her.”

Shitty grinned. “You know she’s saving herself for you, bro. Anyway, what do you want me to send you? I know Lards will be busy for a bit. But you guys stick around after closing and we’ll have a drink. You can meet one of my new dancers.” Shitty paused, then gave Jack a huge grin. “You’ll like him, trust me. Itty Bitty is his profile.”

Jack thought that was possibly the most ridiculous stage name he’d ever heard, and he was in Hockey. He also had no intention of picking a dancer he might like. Unfortunately Rans and Holster were already shoving the tablet at Kent.

“Holy fucking shit, this is Jack’s dream boy,” Rans said.

Parse was laughing. “He’s right. Jesus. You’re going to lose your mind, Jacky-boy.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Jack groaned.

“Okay but the important question lies in, what drinks to we order, and what does he dance to?”

Jack determinedly didn’t look over as they deliberated. They ordered rounds of shots and beers, then Holster said, “Fuck me, Flo Rida. I bet he can work the fuck out of that.”

“You seriously think this tiny-ass white boy can get down to Flo Rida?” Ransom asked.

Jack still didn’t look over.

“He looks like he can get down to a whole lot. Do it,” Holster said.

“Look at it this way,” Parse cut in, “if you pick that, we won’t be subjected to the Lumineers.”

“Fuck you, you know I don’t listen to that shit,” Holster said as he jabbed the button on the screen. The lights dimmed a little, and Jack startled.

“I heard it in locker room this morning,” Tater cut in. “Singing to it in shower.”

“Shut up ya commie bastard,” Holster said, and laughed when Tater yanked him in for a kiss.

Just then, music began. The stage flickered, and then there was nothing more than a spotlight. Then a person, silhouetted against the bright lamp. As the music began to thump, he stepped forward, and Jack could make out well-muscled legs poking out of short-shorts as hips began to rock in time with the thumping beat.

“Holy shit, boy’s got it,” Ransom said.

Their moment was broken only by the delivery of drinks, but all of them were all-but gripping the railing, pushing close to the edge of the stage. Jack could make out Parse digging into his wallet for ones—as though he had somehow prepared for this.

Jack momentarily wondered of Kenny and Shitty had set him up.

But he stopped caring when several colourful lights flared on the tight body. The dancer, Itty Bitty—still a stupid name—was definitely Jack’s type. He was tiny, and lithe, and well defined. He had floppy blonde hair and a fucking smile as he rocked his body to a beat Jack could barely hear over the rushing of blood in his ears.

Bitty looked over at the booth, and his smile got wider. He danced near the edge of the stage, teasingly, perfectly, catching Jack’s eyes for a second as he turned and bent at the waist to show off what was very nearly a perfect miniature replica of a Hockey Butt.

“Jesus look at him,” Holster said, leaning over the railing with a wad of cash that looked a lot bigger than ones.

Bitty eyed him, then sashayed over, still dancing, and twisted his hips so Holster could tuck them in. 

Ransom made a quick move to do the same, and Bitty actually laughed before he reached out and grabbed Ransom by the wrist. Ran froze, his voice choked in his throat as Bitty reached out and plucked the flower crown from his head.

Placing it on his own, he winked… _winked_ and Jack was pretty sure the wink was directed at _him_ before he strolled over to the poll and finished out the song doing moves that would make almost anyone at least a bit turned on.

When it was over, Bitty grinned at them, picked up the few tips that had fallen out of his waistband, and left the stage.

“Holy fuck,” Parse breathed. “He didn’t even get naked and I swear I just watched a dance porno.”

Jack swallowed and tried to scowl but found he couldn’t. He also found he couldn’t argue when Itty Bitty was selected again. And then again. The final song was to Beyonce and Bitty looked oddly excited over it, and even lost his short-shorts to reveal a set of painted-on pants in golds and reds.

Jack was uncomfortably hard in his jeans and felt unbearably awkward about the whole thing. His only saving grace was that the club was closing up soon and the torture would end.

He glanced over at the boys and tried not to see the knowing looks plastered across their faces. He said nothing, did nothing, because the chirps would be endless and he wasn’t sure he could take it. Maybe it was better if there was a press-leak. At least that way they’d get distracted and stop focusing on the fact that yeah, this guy was exactly Jack’s type and yeah…he kind of wanted him.

*** 

“Well?” Lardo demanded as she lounged on the couch in Eric’s changing room.

Bitty strolled over, then covered her in bills. “Makin’ it rain,” he said, sounding a bit silly in his extreme southern drawl.

She laughed, trying to pocket a couple of the twenties before he snatched them out of her hands.

“Paper cuts, you asshole!” she said, but didn’t fight him as he grabbed up the cash and shoved it into his duffle bag.

“Remind me to tell Shitty he can invite his hockey bros any time. I think I might have enough for the new oven I want.”

Lardo gave a dreamy sigh. “Rich boys, eh? You should just get yourself a sugar daddy, I keep telling you.”

Bitty slipped out of his shorts, grabbing more comfortable joggers and a form-fitting t-shirt from the top of his vanity table, and dressed. “You know I’m a proper southern boy, Larissa. I mean to fall in love and have someone make an honest man out of me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your sense of morals leaves me…confused.”

“Don’t make me get Shitty in here to give you another lecture on sex-worker positivity,” he chirped.

She groaned, then rolled up to sit just as the door flung open and Shitty strolled in. “What did I tell you, Peaches?”

Bitty snorted and dropped into his vanity chair to scrub some of the make-up off his face. “You were right. Too bad they can’t come around more often.”

“The looks on their faces?” Shitty said, winking. “I don’t think I’ll have to try so hard next time.”

Bitty reached over and held the flower crown out to Shitty. “Your friend might want this back, though.”

Shitty laughed, batting it away. “You can deliver it yourself. I told them you’d come hang for a bit. They’re celebrating—not too rowdy, I promise.”

Bitty crossed his arms. “You gave them the handsy lecture?”

With a deadpan stare, Shitty lifted a brow. “Do you think I’d put my favourite Georgia Peach in a booth with a bunch of grabby-hands assholes? Bits, none of them even got off.”

Bitty shrugged. “Well saw that much. But I can never be too careful.”

Shitty deflated, clearly remembering several times they had to employ security services when regulars got a bit too caught up in Bitty’s style of dance. “I trust them with my life. I’ve known them forever, I would never put you in danger willingly.”

Bitty deflated. “Fine, fine. Could you have someone rustle me up some carrot ginger juice while I get this stuff off my face? I’ll meet you in the booth after that.”

Shitty beamed, then held his hand out for his girlfriend. “Wanna help me lock up?”

She shook her head. “Nah, I’ll make the juice.”

“You’re just saying that because it means I get dish duty!” Shitty cried as the door swung shit.

Bitty smiled and shook his head as he turned toward the mirror, and the moment he knew he was alone, he deflated. He’d been hesitant about dancing for Shitty’s friends. It seemed too personal, but Shitty had always been proud of him, wanted him to get the most out of his job.

Bitty didn’t exactly need the stripping gig anymore. He had done it during grad-school, then ended up being surprisingly good at it, and making enough to open his bakery instead. He dropped out halfway through his second year, and Bitty’s Bites was a decent success. His baking vlog offered free advertisement, and living round the corner from it saved on him having to buy a car.

He was doing well, but he found he couldn’t let go of this place. He actually liked it. He liked the control he had over the audience, he liked making them lose themselves a little with his dancing. He loved dancing, and the money didn’t hurt, either. He had a nice savings, Shitty was one of his best friends and the best boss anyone could ever have. The place and the dancers had become like family to him. Even ones who went on to other things still came round, were still treated like best friends.

Bitty still made cakes and pies for all their birthdays, and he was enjoying it.

He’d heard so many stories about Shitty’s old Samwell Hockey Team, too. He started about a year after Shitty opened Haus, and at first a few of the old guys would come in and visit. Not Jack, of course, Shitty’s closest friend. Jack who had been signed with the Falconers, and had climbed his way to captain. Ransom and Holster—Bitty knew—had followed Jack when they could. The other two Shitty didn’t know well, but Bitty had seen plenty of twitter chirps and jokes, and selfies that they almost felt like family.

Even if he’d never directly spoken to them.

And then there was Jack.

Jack who had a twitter he used only to post the occasional sunset photo or congrats to a winning team. Jack, who Shitty had warned him was “the most beautiful motherfucker you’ll ever meet. Eyes you can get lost in for days.” Not that Bitty would use that sort of language but still…

Shitty hadn’t been wrong.

It had been a long time since Bitty almost lost concentration when he was on stage, and one locked gaze with Jack Zimmermann had almost done it.

And he was fairly certain Jack had been staring back at him.

But he knew it was pointless to want. So pointless. Jack was a private guy, Shitty had gone on for hours about Jack’s coveted privacy over his personal life. He was out as a gay Hockey player, but he was not the one the NHL used as their LGBT+ spokesperson. And the very idea that Jack might even consider dating a stripper…

Because Bitty really had no intention of leaving Haus.

With a resigned sigh, he finished taking off his make-up, put on his most friendly Southern Smile, then headed out to torture himself before he was allowed to go home and collapse in bed.

*** 

The exclamations and chirps were nothing more than a dull buzz in the back of Jack’s head as Lardo and Shitty joined them for drinks. Jack had switched to water after the first beer—Parse had taken his shot, and he was chirped for being a prude but he didn’t care. One beer was bad enough so close to taking his next dose of meds, and he really didn’t need to make an ass of himself, or risk a relapse.

Luckily the guys all knew this, and kept it light.

Mostly Jack was just distracted. By the memory of the small blonde getting him more wound up than he’d been in years.

“Ahhh there’s my Georgia Peach,” Shitty all-but shouted, which made Jack turn his head so fast he felt a slight crack in his neck.

Bitty was there, one curled fist cocked up on his hip, and he was giving Shitty an exasperated, but fond look. “Really now…”

“Boys, this is Eric Bittle, though you know him best as Itty Bitty. Bits, these are the boys…” Shitty waved his hand over to Ransom who was perched on Alexei’s knee, then to Alexei who had one arm curled round Ransom’s waist, his other hand tangled with Kent. Shitty then introduced Parse, and Holster who were bent over Holster’s phone, and then eventually at Jack who flushed slightly.

“Oh shit,” Holster said as his head snapped up. “Bro, that was some amazing stuff out there!”

Jack glanced at the boys, then over at Bitty who was wearing loose joggers and a t-shirt that looked almost painted on. He was also still wearing the flower crown, which was perched just slightly off kilter on his floppy blonde locks. It was wrong that it looked almost more erotic than he had with the tiny shorts on stage, and Jack shifted in his seat just slightly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Bitty said. “Goodness y’all got a party though, don’t you?” Bitty eyed the seats, and Jack realised the only open one was between him and Holster. He shifted as far as he could as Bitty grinned and squeezed himself in. After a second, Bitty pulled the flower crown off, plucked one of the fake daisies out of it, then handed it over to Ransom with a wink.

Ransom took it, shoving it on his head, grinning like mad. “Those were some amazing moves, bro. Seriously where did you learn to work it?”

Bitty shrugged, glancing at Jack as he fiddled with the daisy. “I used to be a figure skater as a kid. I took a lot of dance classes in between, to work on my form and everything. I ended up being good at it.”

“Good?” Shitty said, rolling his eyes. “A year after this place opens Lards and I are at a club and there’s this kid here on the motherfucking bar top shaking his ass like he’s a one-man Coyote Ugly show. And I think he’s wasted but it turns out he’s stone sober, just likes showing off. Obviously I had to hire him.”

Jack’s eyes cut over to Bitty who was blushing faintly, staring down at the daisy he was twirling between his thumb and forefinger. He could picture it easily, and it made his cheeks darken. “You’re brave,” Jack said, speaking up for the first time in what felt like hours. “Coming to work for this one.”

Shitty put his hand to his heart as Lardo threw her head back with a laugh. “I’m hurt, Zimms. _Hurt_. I mean, it’s like all these years have been a lie. Like you never loved me.”

Jack couldn’t help a small chuckle even as Bitty looked at him. “I thought he was charming.”

Jack raised a brow. “Well…he’s something.”

Bitty giggled. “I like your accent. Some-sing,” he mimicked and Jack flushed. He’d been in the states long enough to dull the accent, but when he was nervous it was ten times worse. Bitty noticed his expression and reached over, tucking the daisy behind Jack’s ear. “It’s nice. Don’t get embarrassed.”

“I’m not,” Jack muttered, and deliberately kept his eyes away from Parse, who was staring at him. Hard.

*** 

An hour later found them in the main club now that all the customers had been disbanded and the doors locked. Shitty turned up music, Lardo got more drinks going—juice for Bitty, water for Jack, and pints for everyone else.

Holster and Ransom were busy taking turns trying to work the pole whilst Bitty stood near the end of the stage calling out directions. Alexei and Lardo were in a heated discussion over vodka and whether or not assuming Tater liked vodka—he did—was a stereotype. Shitty was fiddling with the sound system and Parse was a seat away from Jack at the bar. Staring.

“You like him.”

Jack clenched his jaw. “Don’t.”

Laughing, Kent shifted over a seat and knocked his knee into Jack’s. “Come on. He’s cute. I mean if you’re not going to go for it…”

“Your boyfriend is right there,” Jack said heatedly, jutting his chin out at Tater who was now determinedly pouring out half-shots for a vodka taste-test. Jack would tell this night was going to end…interesting.

Parse laughed and shook his head. “He doesn’t care. He was more turned on than I was.”

Jack gripped his water and stared down at his fingers. “You know I’m not…interested. In dating.”

There was a long silence, then Parse said, “You know, your accent does get stronger when you’re worked up. I should take you here more often.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Mange d’la marde,” he muttered.

Kent blinked at him. “Now, now, are you going to get nasty?”

Jack fixed him with a level stare. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Why not?” Parse said, and leant into him. “Jack, he’s cute, he likes you—he hasn’t been able to stop staring all night. Hell he wasn’t able to stop staring during the fucking dance.”

“Arête,” Jack said.

Parse shook his head. “Non, arrête de zigoner…and go after him.”

Jack swallowed thickly, then looked back at Bitty who was watching him and Parse with careful eyes. Jack couldn’t help but reach up and touch the flower, and he saw a faint blush colouring Bitty’s cheeks.

“Hey Bits,” Parse called, and Jack’s throat seized up. “You seeing anyone? Because Jackie boy here thinks you’ve got a nice ass. Not quite a hockey butt…but close.”

Bitty’s eyes widened, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Y’all are too much.” He took a step back. “I gotta get to the restroom. Be right back.” He hurried to the door and Jack rounded on Parse.

“Mais pourquoi diable me fait ça!”

Parse threw up his hands. “What, I was just helping.”

“That was not helping,” Jack growled, throwing himself from the stool. “T’é juss un plein de marde!”

With that, he stormed out the back door, walking swift enough he was almost out of breath by the time he made it to the alley. Luckily the streets were all-but empty, the faint sounds of traffic from the main street just a dull roar.

Jack pressed his back up to the brick, cocking one foot up against the wall, and he closed his eyes. He was trying to control himself, but the last thing he needed was his shit ex trying to get him a hook-up with one of Shitty’s dancers who clearly wasn’t there to hook up. There were rules about these sorts of things, and Parse could be such an asshole sometimes.

“Crisse,” he breathed to himself.

“If I ask real nicely,” came a voice, making Jack jump and spin around, “would you tell me what all that was?”

Jack’s eyes fixed on the form of Bitty, who was now tucked inside a Falcons, zip-top hoodie which looked at least five sizes too big. He was leaning his shoulder against the wall, his head cocked to the side. Jack let out a rough breath, dragging his hand through his hair, knocking the daisy off.

He moved to get it, but Bitty was quicker, and he kept the plastic stem pinched between his fingers. “I mean, all that…was it French?”

“Québécois,” Jack muttered. “It’s…French. Um…from…”

“Québéc?” Bitty offered with a small laugh. “Yeah. I got that. Canadian. Hockey.”

Jack flushed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “It was…me being rude,” he said after a moment. “Parse was being a dick.”

Bitty laughed. “So he wasn’t telling the truth, then?”

Jack blinked at him. “S…sorry?”

“About you thinking I had a cute butt. Even if it’s not quite a hockey butt.”

Jack swore for a moment he was going to burst into flame, but crisse Bitty was so cute. The distant streetlamp gave him a sort of halo glow, and Jack just wanted to take him in his arms and…he wasn’t even sure what. He was torn between wanting to kiss him and wrap him up and hold him all damn night.

“I didn’t say that,” he muttered eventually.

Bitty blushed again, but looked incredibly pleased. “I have a bakery.”

Jack blinked rapidly again. “Euh…”

“I mean, that’s what I do. During the day? I’m not actually a full-time dancer. I started doing this to pay for school, you know? Then I ended up making enough money to open up my bakery, but it’s hard to leave. I like this place. Everyone’s so nice.”

“Yeah,” Jack breathed. “They are.”

Bitty shifted a little closer, then went up on his toes to tuck the daisy back behind Jack’s ear. When he backed up, he was grinning. “You’ve known him a long time, right? Shitty? And Larissa?”

Jack nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was startled how easy it was to talk to Bitty, how his anxiety seemed to kind of fade into a dull throb in the background. How easy it was for a smile to settle across his face and it didn’t feel stressed or strained like his Press Smile. “Since we were Frogs,” he said, and when Bitty lifted a brow, he laughed. “It’s what we called the Freshman. We played Hockey together, but he went and got accepted to Harvard and I…”

“Went and got yourself drafted into the NHL?” Bitty offered. When Jack ducked his head, Bitty laughed and reached out, touching his arm. “You’re just the sweetest, you know that? I’ve seen your games—Shits puts them on sometimes—and here you are blushin’ in some dark alley when I’ve seen you with gloves off, beating some guy’s face on the ice.”

Jack huffed a laugh. “He said something rude.”

“He?” Bitty pressed.

“I don’t go gloves off unless they’re rude,” Jack said. Then, diving straight in said, “Homophobic.”

Bitty licked his lips. “Ah. Yeah, Shits said you were out. You and a few of the guys.”

Jack shrugged. “Sorry if it bothers you.”

Bitty laughed, shaking his head. “Jack, even working for Shitty and his rage against anything gendernormative, I know I’m _obvious_.” When Jack raised a brow, Bitty shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m very, very gay.”

Jack laughed that time and bit his lip. “Okay.”

Bitty kept his gaze, kicking Jack’s shoe with his own, and Jack kicked back lightly. It was ridiculous. It was sappy, stupid, middle-school flirting. And Jack was loving it. The pair of them somehow made it to the ground, sitting with their backs to the walls, knees up and knocked together.

“…and for some reason I thought it would be a good idea,” Bitty said, elaborating on his Coyote Ugly night. “I don’t drink, but sometimes I get caught up when everyone’s getting rowdy.”

Jack laughed quietly. “I don’t either, but I try not to encourage their behaviour.” He went quiet a moment. “Listen, I hope Kenny didn’t bother you too much. He…he’s actually an alright guy. He was just chirping me and I think you got caught up in the middle of it.”

Bitty smiled, shaking his head softly as he knocked his knee a little harder against Jack’s. “Nah, really. I um…thought you were cute?” he said it almost like a question, his cheeks dark with a flush. “I didn’t really know how to respond to hearing some giant of a Hockey Player as good looking and famous as you would be even a little interested. Even as a joke.”

Jack licked his lips. “Wasn’t a joke.”

Bitty’s smile softened. “I’m sort of starting to get that now, darlin’.”

Jack looked away, his grin threatening to split his face in two. “I like your accent.”

Bitty chuckled and shifted closer. “I like yours.” There was a pause, then he said, “You wanna maybe come see my bakery sometime? It’s not far from here. I mean…it’s closed tomorrow but I’m open Sunday to Friday.”

Jack felt his heart sink. “We have a plane. Tomorrow.” His insides were aching. “We have to be in New York for a thing. Press stuff.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I live in Providence though, you know. It’s not…it’s not too far. Maybe when I get back…”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, breathy and smiling. “Yeah that might be good. Any time, you know?”

Jack, feeling bolder than he had in so long, reached out—slow enough to give Bitty time to pull back. He didn’t. Their fingers linked and Jack ran his thumb gently along the side of Bitty’s wrist. “I like you.”

Bitty laughed, moving close enough he could rest his head on Jack’s shoulders. “You’re not so bad yourself, Mr Zimmermann.”

Jack turned his head and huffed his laugh into the top of Bitty’s hair. “Jack’s fine.”

“And if you ever feel the need, you can call me Eric.”

“You like that better?” Jack asked quietly.

Bitty shrugged. “Not…better. Just, no one calls me that. Might be nice to have something that’s just yours.” Jack could almost feel the heat of Bitty’s blush. “I mean…”

“Eric,” Jack said, stilling the other man’s words. “I’d love to.”

Eric hummed happily, and Jack knew that whilst they should get inside so he could avoid a lifetime of endless chirping, he had no real motivation to move. And they didn’t, until the stumbling drunk players came out, declaring it was time to get back to the hotel.

Jack pushed himself to his feet, then extended a hand down to Bitty who pressed in close. The others were stumbling to the car, the driver looking tired and a little annoyed, and Jack determinedly looked anywhere but at Parse’s smug grin.

“May I?”

Startled, Jack looked back down at Bitty. “Um. Yes.” He wasn’t sure what Bitty was asking, but he knew the answer would be yes to whatever it was.

A hand reached out then, touching his cheek, turning his head, and then Bitty went up on his toes and brushed dry, warm lips across Jack’s skin, just to the right of his mouth. Jack let out a puff of air as Bitty fell back to his heels, and they were both grinning a little stupidly.

“Thank you,” Jack blurted.

Bitty laughed and squeezed Jack’s fingers. “Any time. You have my number now?”

Jack gave his pocket a pat where he’d stored Bitty’s number in his phone. “Text you soon.”

“Better be soon,” Bitty warned, waggling his finger.

Jack couldn’t help himself. He lifted a hand, cupping it against the side of Bitty’s neck, and brought their foreheads together. “I promise,” he breathed. “Je le jure.”

Bitty gave a small shiver as he pulled away. “And I expect full translations of everything y’all said tonight. Even the dirty bits.”

Jack laughed, then waved as he got in the car. Though he expected the chirping—and though it was delivered—he weathered it all with a smile on his face, and a promise to see the adorable blonde very soon.

*** 

Jack rolled his eyes as Shitty smirked at him over the cup of coffee. “So,” he drawled, leaning back and cocking one foot up on the table.

Jack sighed, using his elbow to knock it down. “We’re in public, Shits.”

Shitty shrugged and took another drink. “So. Bits. You and Bits. You and my boy, Bits.”

“Is this the shovel talk?” Jack asked, raising a brow.

“You know he and Parse follow each other on twitter now? They were exchanging cat pictures,” Shitty said. He pulled out his phone and shoved it at Jack, thumbing through the public exchanges. Jack immediately recognised Kit, and then below that a massive, fluffy cat with dark legs and white paws. “She’s called Cranberry.”

“Who names their cat Cranberry?” Jack asked, though he knew exactly the sort of person who would. Eric Bittle.

He’d been back in Providence for less than a day before he hopped in his car and made the drive to Boston. His leg shook up and down the entire way, nerves getting the better of him. They’d been on the road for press tours and magazine photo shoots and other exhausting things that came with winning the cup and being semi-celebrities. Parse was going to be featured on some box of cereal, and Ransom and Holster had done ads for underwear. Alexei had signed some contract with Captain Morgan’s rum because he claimed he loved the pirates and that they’d be sending him to the beach.

Only one of those was the truth.

Jack declined anything outside of his usual obligations, mostly desperate to get home so he could think. He and Bitty had been texting the entire time he was away—ranging from benign conversation like what Bitty was buying at the supermarket, to flirting and selfies—which Bitty vowed to teach Jack how to take a proper one the moment he was in town.

Which, it seemed, was now.

“Isn’t this like cheating?” Jack asked after a moment. “Having pastry and coffee in a shop that isn’t Eric’s.”

Shitty’s smile went from smirk to full-on shit-eating grin. “Eric, is it?”

Jack glanced away. “Crisse. Is that your business?”

“When it’s my favourite slice of pecan pie, it is,” Shitty said, levelling a finger at Jack. “Do you actually like him?”

Jack leant over the table and raised a brow. “Have you ever seen me get involved with anyone I didn’t?”

“You treat him well, Zimmermann. I don’t care how much bigger than me you are. He’s a good guy.”

Jack laughed. “I know that.”

Shitty’s face softened. “Yeah. Guess you do. Though I don’t know why you’re here instead of there.”

Jack shrugged. “Missed you.”

“Awww broooooo,” Shitty cooed.

“And I wanted some…advice?” Jack went on, ignoring Shitty who was making heart-shapes with his fingers. “I don’t want to…fuck this up.”

Shitty shook his head, kicking Jack a little under the table. “You’re like the human equivalent of a butterfly. But bigger. And beefy. And will hopefully live longer.”

“Shits…”

He laughed and threw up his hands. “I’m saying that I think you two will be good together. And he likes you. He’s done nothing but talk about you and every time I see his nose buried in his damn phone he’s grinning. So…get the hell out of this place, and go see him. Plant a big one right on that mouth of his.”

“And it’s not…I mean because we met when he was dancing…” Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

“Look man, it’s not like you want him because he’s a dancer, right?”

“Right,” Jack said slowly.

“You don’t have some weird fantasy about that, and you’re…you’re not going to tell him to stop, are you?” Shitty actually sounded concerned.

“No,” Jack said quickly. “No that doesn’t bother me. I just…you know. Ethics.”

Shitty rolled his eyes. “God you two are disgustingly perfect for each other. Just go. Trust me, if Bits thinks something isn’t right, he’ll tell you. No hesitations.”

Jack laughed, knowing that was true enough. “Alright, alright.” He rose from the table, then hesitated again until Shitty kicked him.

“Arrête de zigoner! Aweille!”

Jack rolled his eyes, but reached into his pocket for his keys, and hurried out the door.

*** 

He made it to the bakery in ten minutes, only to find the door locked and the Back in an Hour sign up. Cursing, he reached for his phone, started a text, then changed his mind halfway through and hit the call button. He mashed his phone to his ear, took a breath, and waited.

“Jack?” came a voice that sounded slightly out of breath.

“Yeah hi. Eric euh…sorry I should have called first. I wanted to surprise you, but I guess you’re…out?”

“Oh my good lord, are you at the shop?”

Jack laughed. “Maybe?”

“Oh no. Listen, don’t move. I’ll be there in five. You’ll wait for me?”

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“Good. Okay just…don’t…don’t go.” There was a fumbling noise, then the line went dead.

Jack stared in confusion at his phone for the full five minutes. Then suddenly, rounding the corner, was all 5’6” of Eric Bittle with his floppy blonde hair, and one earbud hanging over his shoulder. Jack could hear faint, thumping music coming from what was probably his phone, wedged in the pocket of his joggers.

“You were running?”

Bitty laughed, swiping a hand across his brow. “Yeah, I run at my lunch. I only dance two nights a week, and it’s not enough.” He held out a hand and Jack took it. “Come on, I’ll make us some lunch.”

Instead of going into the bakery, Bitty instead pulled them down the street, one block over to a massive building. “This is me,” he explained, shoving his key into the lock. They take the lift up to the third floor, then Bitty’s is flat J, which opens up to a huge lounge which surprised Jack.

It was sparsely furnished and decorated, a couple of framed Beyonce posters that looked like they were signed, couple of bookshelves, a TV mounted on the wall, a sofa, and a chair covered in what looked like knitting material.

“This is me,” Bitty said, throwing is keys on the table. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Jack said mildly as he took the place in. It was different, and it was new, but it was absolutely Bitty.

“Go on, sit your cute bee-hind on the sofa and I’ll be out in a tick.” Bitty winked and Jack flushed as he moved to obey.

Sinking into the soft cushions, Jack’s suddenly met with a lap-full of fluffy cat who perched on his thigh. Cranberry, he remembered. The cat extended claws, not into his skin, but just enough to be a warning. Jack eased a hand onto Cranberry’s head, then began to scratch behind her ears. After a moment, the cat turned in three circles, then curled up against his ribs.

“Oh good.” Eric came round the corner with a massive tea tray full of sandwiches, and two bottles of some fizzy drink that was a very light pink. “She’s my professional vetter.”

Jack raised a brow as he gave the cat another pet. “What happens if I fail?”

“You’d be in ribbons,” Bitty said with a grin. He plopped down next to Jack and passed a sandwich over. “I made the bread myself.”

Jack’s mouth is soon too full to tell Bitty it was the best sandwich he’d ever had, but the look on his face probably does enough of that for him. They devour their lunch with a little small-talk, then break into the drinks which it turns out, are some sort of grapefruit flavoured fizzy thing.

“I hope it was okay what I did,” Jack said after a moment. He watched carefully as Cranberry moved to Eric for a few pets, then jumped off and wandered away. “Surprising you.”

“Oh.” Bitty laughed and reached out, gripping Jack’s knee. “Honey that was fine. I just…I look a mess and I’d have liked to at least cleaned up a little before I got to see you again.”

Jack flushed, shaking his head. “You look…really good. I’m not sure you could look a mess even if you tried.”

Bitty laughed again and shifted closer, their thighs pressed together now. “How about you take me to dinner and I can show you how well I actually clean up.”

Jack licked his lips, his eyes fixated on the tiny smirk hovering on Bitty’s mouth. He nodded absently. “I could do that, yeah.”

Bitty’s laugh was softer this time, and his hand crept up, first brushing across Jack’s ribs, then up toward his collarbone. “This okay?”

“Are you…are you about to kiss me?” He felt Bitty’s hand hesitate so he said quickly, “Because I’d be really okay with that.”

Bitty’s eyes brightened, like they created literal sunshine, and he shifted so they were facing each other. Jack too the opportunity to cup his cheek, rubbing his thumb over Bitty’s sprinkle of freckles before dipping his head in.

The kiss was soft, lingering, just a gentle swipe of tongue, and it drew out and out until Jack was breathless and pink in the cheeks. Bitty kept a firm grip on his shoulders, nuzzling their noses when it finally broke, and Jack let out a puff of air.

“Crisse de tabarnak,” he muttered against Bitty’s cheek.

Bitty laughed. “I looked that one up, sweetheart. And taking the lord’s name in vain…”

Jack pulled back and saw the laughter in Bitty’s eyes. “You’re…something else.”

Bitty reached up, brushing the backs of his knuckles down Jack’s cheek. “Kiss me again. I’ve got ten minutes before we have to rush out of here, and I want to make the best of it.” He curled his fist into Jack’s shirt. “Make sure I don’t forget. All afternoon.”

Jack grinned, and then he did.

*** 

**Epilogue**

Bitty flung the door to his dressing room open, and smiled at the figure on the sofa. He shut it with a purposeful click, then strolled over, bending low to brush a kiss over Jack’s pliant mouth. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Crisse, what is all over you?” Jack asked, his eyes wide.

“Glitterbomb,” Bitty said, crossing his arms with a huff as he backed up toward his vanity. “Shitty thought it would be hilarious.”

Jack covered his face, laughing into his palms as Bitty threw a balled up tissue at him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“He told you, didn’t he?” Bitty said with a scowl as he pulled a wet wipe from his box in an attempt to scrub some of the shining bits from his arms and face.

Jack shrugged, leaning back again with his arms behind his head. “Said you got him last week in the walk-in.”

Bitty snickered. “He ate my maple apple pie.”

Jack looked over, flushed a bit, and filled with a warmth from head to toe. He reached out, making grabby hands at Bitty and after a moment of hesitation, Bitty launched himself on top of Jack, pressing kisses all over his face.

They slid into a warm snog, tongues sliding, lips dancing, and when Bitty finally pulled back, Jack reached up and dragged his hands through the blonde hair, causing a shower of glitter to rain down on him. “Hey,” he whispered.

Bitty dragged his fingers across Jack’s now sparkling cheeks. “Hey.”

Jack stared for just a moment. “I love you.”

Bitty stopped, his breath freezing in his chest. “You. What. Um…”

“I love you,” Jack said, and nothing had ever felt more right.

“You love me,” Bitty repeated. “I just got done baring my ass to a crowd full of people for rolls of bills, and you love me.”

Jack rolled his eyes, digging his fingers into the waistband of Bitty’s tiny shorts. “Yes, Eric. Those two things are not mutually exclusive. I love you.” He lifted his head up and pressed a kiss to the tip of Bitty’s nose.

Bitty stared down at him, a bit cross-eyed, but refused to pull back any further. “Say it again,” he whispered.

Jack laughed. “I love you. Je t’adore. Je t’aime. I love you.”

Bitty threw himself into the kiss, hands fisted into the front of Jack’s shirt. When he pulled away, his face had gone red under the glitter, and his eyes were suspiciously bright. “I love you too.”

Jack grinned and dragged his fingers through the short hairs at Bitty’s nape. “You know, I suspected you might.”

“Good lord,” Bitty said, rolling his eyes, but he obviously thought that deserved another kiss, because he planted another soft one on Jack’s lips. “What am I going to do with you?”

Jack nipped at the crook of Bitty’s neck, then breathed him in. “Je ne sais pas. But…you could take me home. I’m sure by the time we get there, we can come up with a few ideas.”

Bitty pulled back with a wicked grin. “Oh. I think I’ve already got some.” He took Jack’s hand in his, and pulled him to a stand. Grabbing his hoodie, he dragged a laughing Jack into the corridor, then stopped right before the exit to kiss him again. When he pulled back, he stayed in close to whisper, “Say it just one more time.”

Jack crowded him against the door and cupped his face, putting all the meaning, and all the purpose into his voice that he could. “Eric Bittle, I love you.”

Eric grinned then took his hand. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> PS I'm on Tumblr at [ omgcaptiveprinceplease](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/omgcaptiveprinceplease) which is my check please/captive prince side blog so feel free to follow or submit prompts for fic/HC. I'm slow but I'll get to them, I promise! x


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